


Entye

by Night_Feathers



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Slow Burn, like a really really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-22 13:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Feathers/pseuds/Night_Feathers
Summary: The Mandalorian travels with the child to Hoth, having heard there is a small settlement there, hoping to gather supplies and lay low with the child.  Instead he comes across a mysterious stranger and finds himself in their debt.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Character, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s), din djarin x original character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. Ice

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've ever posted any of my work. For original art I drew of the Mandalorian and the original character, check out the link below!!
> 
> https://feathersandpaintbrushes.tumblr.com/post/190105681344/original-art-by-me-night-feather-designs

Landing on Hoth was a mistake.

True, it was remote enough that they were unlikely to be spotted, but the barren landscape also lacked much in the ways of necessities.

And it was fucking cold.

The Mandalorian shouldered his pack and turned to look back at his ship, noting the ice already coating its surface. He’d heard of a small outpost hidden within the mountains, a place where the families of former scavengers had gathered and stubbornly made their own. After the republic had fled the planet it had seen little attention from any government, and the people who had come to scavenge for scraps left behind from formal battles had simply found no reason to leave.

A sharp wind whistled across the flat plains he’d landed on, and the icy tendrils shot past his bescar, chilling him. The Mandalorian shot a glance at the pod floating serenely by his side. He’d stuffed it with heat packs and spare blankets before he set out, and he hoped the child was warmer than he was. 

The wind was strange here. The howls sounded almost melodic and hollow, and for an instant he imagined it was a strange, mournful singing. He stopped, gripping his blaster tightly in a frozen fist, and looked about him. The ice fields were just as empty as they were the last time he looked, but he couldn’t help but feel a prickling at the base of his neck.

It was just the wind, he told himself firmly. Still, he quickened his step and didn’t holster his blaster.

He had a rough idea where the settlement was, but the mountains ahead were too rocky to land the Razor Crest even remotely close to. By his estimate he had about a half hour left of walking at this pace before he reached the mountains, and then another hour after that to get to the town. He turned his head upwards, trying to get a gauge on how much longer it was until nightfall, when the fridged Hoth fell well below -50 degrees. The snow was coming down too quickly though, and the thick flakes landed on his upturned helmet, quickly obscuring his vision. Biting back a growl, he shook his head and continued on stubbornly. There would be plenty of time to find shelter, even if they didn’t make it to town tonight. There were rations and tools to make fire in his pack. They wouldn’t freeze, he was certain of it.

Still, the back of his neck prickled, and the wind was more effective than any blaster at shooting through the beskar to the skin beneath.

Fifteen minutes past. Fifteen minutes of singing wind and the sound of his boots crunching on the icy ground. Fifteen minutes of hearing his own ragged breathing, and feeling stiffness in his fingers that never dropped the blaster.

Then the world exploded.

Ice chunks flew through the air, a shard nearly as big as himself slamming into his chest, throwing him off his feet.   
A huge armored worm shot out of the newly made hole in front of him, its heavy body hitting the ice with a deep boom. The Mandalorian scrambled to his feet, reaching behind him to grab his amban rifle off his back and shooting in one fluid motion. The creature howled and lunged forwards, its body slamming into the Mandalorian. Another horrible screech filled the air as the worm’s four pincers opened, revealing a gaping hole of a mouth. The Mandalorian quickly dodged, darting forward to shove the electric pronged ends of his rifle against the creature’s skin. This move proved ineffective, and the Mandalorian grunted as the razor end of one pincer grazed against the underside of his arm where beskardidn’t cover. 

The fight continued; despite the worm’s fantastic size, it moved quickly and the Mandalorian was tiring. The cold wind stiffened his fingers and made his legs clumsy. He tripped backing away from the creature, and standing made his knees tremble. Somewhere above the singing wind and the screams of the worm, he heard a nasal cry, and his stomach clenched at the thought of fighting a second creature.

A warm streak whizzed past his helmet, and he watched with tired bemusement as a fireball landed on the worm. Another followed, this one hitting it in the mouth. The worm screamed louder at this, but the sound was quickly covered by several more fire balls being shot in quick succession down its throat. 

And just as suddenly as the worm appeared, it was gone, the disturbed snow and gaping hole in the ice the only evidence of its presence. Stumbling slightly, the Mandalorian turned to see a heavily clothed figure dismount from a hairy saddled beast and walk purposefully towards him, a blaster in hand.

The figure was so thickly clothed that the Mandalorian couldn’t tell what race it was. Ice crusted its shoulders, and its face was masked with only dark triangles where its eyes would be. The figure stopped several feet away, staring. The wind by now had grown deafening, and the Mandalorian could feel ice on the inside of his helmet. To his surprise, the figure nodded once and holstered its blaster, then began to move both hands rapidly. The Mandalorian stared blearily, his cold number brain confused by the gesturing. The figure stared again and repeated the gestures, and he realized slowly that the motions the figure made were similar to the gestures he used to communicate with the Tusken raiders on Tatooine. 

‘I’m a friend. Come with me’, the figure signed.

Distrust filled the Mandalorian even as fear for the child’s safety made him bite back the initial firm refusal that sprang to his lips.

If they stayed, they’d die. The light was dimming to the strange icy grey of a frozen night, and while the child was hopefully warmer in the thickly padded pod, the Mandalorian felt the ice and snow deep inside himself, the beskar offering no protection. 

Fighting the tiredness that was settling in his bones, the Mandalorian turned to the masked figure and took the hand that was stretched out to him.

\--

Some point during the jostling ride back on the figure’s tuantuan, the Mandalorian had fallen asleep. 

When he woke, he was in an ice cave, the walls glinting with orange from a fire near the Mandalorian’s head. Adrenaline pulsed through him and he sat up quickly, ignoring the protest in his limbs at the sudden movement. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the pod floating empty beside him. A small noise caught his attention, and he turned quickly to see a child emerge from the pile of blankets that had fallen off the Mandalorian’s chest when he’d sat up. Relief surged through him and caught in his throat, and he found himself smiling behind the helmet as he lifted the little one back onto his lap.

“He didn’t want to leave your side.”

The Mandalorian turned quickly to see the figure seated in a shadowy part of the cave, the orange gleam of the fire catching on the metal of their helmet that covered the top half of their face. 

“Who are you?” He asked, grateful that the modulator in the helmet kept his voice impassive, despite the suspicion that tainted the words on his lips.

“A friend.”

The figure’s voice was muffled by the thick cowl that covered their mouth. 

“What do you want?” The Mandalorian’s helmet couldn’t smooth out the roughness in his voice this time, and he was almost glad. Almost.

“To help.”

The Mandalorian ground his jaw and opened his mouth to say what, he wasn’t sure, when the figure stood and approached the fire. They stood quietly, staring at him for a long moment, broken only by the sharp crackle of the fire and soft coos of the child. The figure kneeled then, and the Mandalorian tensed, his hand automatically touching his blaster as the figure reached a hand out and touched jagged rip in the Mandalorian’s sleeve. Their touch was gentle though, and the figure nodded once before withdrawing their hand and standing briskly up.

“You’re hurt,” they said, “and cold. The storm won’t end tonight, and it’s too cold regardless. You can stay here; I have enough food for you and the child. I’m no skilled healer, but I have some supplies. You should clean that before it gets infected. Sapphire worms have filthy pincers.”

The Mandalorian watched in silence as the figure began to move about, rummaging in a crate and emerging with a med pack and a handful of dried meat. They tossed the medpack to the Mandalorian casually, and used a knife to scrape ice from the cave wall into a pot. They put the dried meat in the pot and placed the pot on the fire.

The makeshift soup was bubbling by the time the Mandalorian had finished cleaning and dressing his wound. The child looked on, concerned, but the Mandalorian didn’t allow it to use the healing magic this close to a stranger. The stranger in question had stared at the Mandalorian throughout the process, and it troubled him by how disconcerting it felt. Every twitch of the figure or turn of its masked face had him touching his blaster. When the child began shooting the figure curious gazes the Mandalorian tensed further, but still the figure stayed quiet.

Silence wasn’t a problem for the Mandalorian. He spent much of the time on his ship or with the child in quiet companionship; having a masked stranger stare at him silently as he dressed his wound was odd and vaguely threatening. 

The figure moved suddenly, standing and walking to the same crate and emerging with three bowls, apparently not having noticed the way the Mandalorian had grabbed the child against himself protectively. Without preamble they filled each bowl equally and handed them out. With a soft sigh barely audible through the thick wrappings around their face, the figure sat on the icy floor and removed their gloves. They sighed again and set their gaze upon the Mandalorian again.

“Look,” they said, “I left my weapons in the crate. Would you please stop grabbing your blaster every time I move so I can remove this bloody helmet without being afraid you’ll blow my brains out?”

The Mandalorian froze, surprised by the figure’s sudden request. Slowly he unholstered the blaster and placed it a little ways from him. “Sorry,” he muttered, and watched as the figure’s posture relaxed slightly, hands going to their helmet and lifting it off their head.

They were human, and female. Her braided hair was matted to her head from the press of the helmet, and she sighed with apparent pleasure scratching her neck where folds from the thick fabric cowl dug in. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, flashing a quick grin at the Mandalorian. “It’s only, it’s a bit hard to eat soup with one of these on, as I’m sure you know,” she added, with a smirk. “Here.” She leaned forward and tossed something to him over the fire. It was a straw. He stared at it for a long moment, not sure if she was teasing him or being thoughtful. Looking up, he saw she was already busy eating her own soup, not looking on with laughing eyes and a mean smirk like he’d almost expected to see. Catching the child staring at him, he shrugged and set to drinking the soup from the bowl in silence, relieved to no longer have her gaze on him.

“So what’s your deal?”

Din carefully sat his empty bowl on the ground next to him and sat up straight.

“I need fuel, and rations,” he said coolly, watching the woman for any sign of threat.

Her face was carefully blank, shadows and sparks from the fire making it even more difficult to read.

“And you expected to find it on Hoth?”

“I was told there was a settlement here. Somewhere in the mountains.”

This earned a sudden gleam of interest in the woman’s eyes, and the smile that stretched across her lips was more wolfish than kind.

“You were misled.”

“Are you sure –” the Mandalorian started, only to be interrupted by a sharp look from the figure across the fire.

“I’ve been here three cycles. There’s no settlement. I’m sure. Just me.”

He wasn’t sure that he trusted her words. He certainly didn’t trust the way her face shifted from the impassive mask to a look of undeniable hunger, despite her empty bowl.

A look of desperation.

“Do you have any supplies? I have credits, if you’re willing to sell.”

“Does it look like I have any use for credits?” The woman snapped, and stood quickly. 

Din was on his feet in a flash, abandoned blaster already in hand. She ignored him though, and paced back and forth as if unaware of the Mandalorian’s eyes never leaving her. She stopped, and stalked closer to him, stopping when she was close enough that he could see the small lines in the corners of her eyes.

“I have food. Or rather, I have meat. Lots of it. It keeps well in the cold,” she added, lips twisting.

“If credits are no good for you, then I have nothing else to offer you for it.”

“But you do.”

The woman took a step closer and Din could clearly see her desperation in every scar and line. There was fear too though, and something like hope in her eyes.

“You have a ship. Get me off of this planet and I’ll gladly give you the food.”

Din stayed quiet, and the woman’s jaw clenched slightly.

“I saved your life. If the food isn’t enough of a deal for you, then don’t forget that you owe me your life. And the child’s.”

The Mandalorian bristled. “I was handling it.”

“Bullshit. You were half frozen and seconds from being eaten. I saved you. You can repay your debt by getting me off this frozen shithole.” 

The longer he stayed silent, the harder her face became until suddenly she sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I’ve been stuck here for three years. With no ship. No communicator. Just a few weapons and the clothes on my back. I –” she swallowed and took a quick breath before staring intently at his helmet.

“Please,” she said, and he could see how it cost her to plead, and understood it.

He didn’t trust her. But he understood the emotions that flickered across her face, recognized the strength it took to survive alone – truly alone, without even the help of a guild – for three years.

And he felt his resolve waver.

“Fine,” he relented. “We’ll leave at first light.”

“We’ll leave now,” the woman called over her shoulder, having sprung to life the moment the words of ascent left his lips. 

“I’ll ready your ride.”

\--

A sonic shower in the Razor Crest’s small bathroom did nothing to change the strange woman he’d allowed on his ship. No sudden transformation took place to make her more approachable. She was clean at least – her unbraided hair fell in thick waves, and under the lights in his ship he noticed silver scars crossing the left side of her face and parting the hair on her eyebrow, fresher scars and livid scratches lining her arms. Her eyes still darted around in an almost feral way, and her hand flexed at her side with every sudden noise. She wasn’t very large, but something about her careful step and darting eyes made him keep his blaster on his hip and the child locked safely in its pod.

He watched her carefully as she trailed her fingers lightly against the back of the copilots seat before settling down in it with a muffled sigh of pleasure.

“I don’t remember the last time I felt warm, or sat on something that wasn’t made of ice.”

She certainly looked moderately less feral now as she tucked her legs beneath her and curled into the chair with another soft murmur that made his lips twitch up into an unwilling smile.

“What’s your name?” He finally remembered to ask as he started the ship.

She was slow to answer, and he looked at her out of the corners of his eyes, keeping his helmet facing forward, to see that her face had gone hard again.

“I’m Kas.”


	2. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian and Kas land on a desert planet in search of a ship but find trouble instead.

It was too fucking hot.

Three frostbitten years on Hoth had forced her body to acclimate to icy winds, and the dry heat of this new planet sucked the moisture from her eyes and mouth and dried the sweat as it beaded on her forehead.

She was miserable.

She shot a baleful glare at the back of the Mandalorian’s helmet. Getting her out of Hoth and onto a new planet – one with an actual town and spaceports – had been their only deal. She regretted not specifying which planet; it seemed he’d taken her from one extreme to the other.

A gust of hot wind blew sand in her face and she screwed her eyes shut, an explosive sneeze slipping out before she could help it.

The Mandalorian – curse him – glanced back at her and she could swear she heard a chuckle behind his mask.   
“How much further to the town?” She gasped out, hating that she sounded like an impatient child, wishing her voice sounded like steel, but she was thirsty, and she’d already drained her canteen after a measly fifteen minutes of walking.

The Mandalorian stopped and she caught up to him, forcing her breathing to sound even despite the stuttering of her heart. He stared quietly for a moment as she swallowed, doing her best to keep her face blank. She wished she could be wearing her mask too, but she needed her mouth free to catch every baking mouthful of air this planet had to offer.

“Not long,” he replied eventually, and with only the faintest of sighs, handed her his own full canteen. Pride warred with thirst, and she clenched her fists, willing herself not to grab for it.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, pushing the canteen at her chest. “You aren’t used to the heat, I am. Just take it.”

She did, hands shaking slightly as she uncapped it and took a sip of the still cool water.

“Thank you,” she reminded herself to murmur, looking at the horizon to avoid looking at his mask.

He began walking again after she’d taken a second sparing sip of water, and she did her best to keep up with his long stride.

When they finally got to the town, she was torn between the sheer relief of being in something that passed as civilization again and a sudden panic at the noise and press of bodies around her. Clenching her fists at her own cowardice, she slipped into the Mandalorian’s shadow, letting him clear a way for her while she acclimated herself to what living in a society entailed.

There were humans. Lots of them. And dozens of different species she didn’t have names for. There was laughter and the smell of cooking and a child ran past her chasing some small lizard creature. She stopped and stared at a stall filled with spices, her mouth suddenly watering as she remembered all the flavors she’d missed out on when trapped on Hoth.

Someone large bumped into her, making her fingers fly to her blaster. 

“Watch it,” they snarled in a deep, garbled Basic. Gripping her blaster tightly, she spun to catch sight of the Mandalorian only to hit a different alien, who’s damp skin stuck unpleasantly to her arm. They hissed at her in a language she didn’t recognize. A hand grabbed her arm and she nearly jumped out of her skin, shoving her blaster against the chest of the Mandalorian who had appeared from thin air.

“Come on,” he said roughly, yanking on her arm and dragging her behind him into a dimly lit building. The darkness and the sound of loud music threatened to overwhelm her still further until the bitter tank of spirits hit her nose.

A cantina. She took a deep breath, letting the familiar stenches wash over her and ground her. It had been years since she’d been in a joint like this. Years since she’d had anything stronger than the watery meat soup she made in the cave at Hoth. But one cantina is much like another, and the sights and smells here were more familiar than anything she’d seen so far on this sun baked planet.

“Stay.”

The Mandalorian pushed his gloved hand down hard on her shoulder, forcing her to sit at one of the sticky booths while he disappeared into the crowd around the bar.

She took a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut and focusing on the familiar beat of her heart. A metallic clang made her open her eyes to see the Mandalorian set a cup of something in front of her. She raised her eyes to him and smiled tightly. “Thanks,” she said, taking a gulp of the bitter alcohol. “It’s just –“ “Been a while. I figured.” The smile she gave him at these gruff words was more genuine. 

“I haven’t had a decent drink in three years,” she added, taking another gulp. “Okay,” she said coughing, as the Mandalorian tilted his head to the side in what she imagined to be his equivalent to a raised eyebrow, “I haven’t had any drink in three years. So maybe I’m a little biased.” He definitely snorted this time, and she hid a smirk in another deep gulp. She still felt jerky and droid-like with her expressions. Three years was a long time with only Tuantuans and herself for company. She’d talked, of course, to keep herself from going insane. But smiling – well she’d gone without a genuine smile for nearly as long as she’d gone without a drink.

“So,” she said, setting the empty glass down with a decisive clank. “Where can I go to find a ship of my own?”

\-----

It was a hunk of junk. Its hull was badly scarred, and the inside smelled like the rotten insides of a dead tuantuan. The pilot’s seat was vaguely sticky, and she was afraid to look in the bathroom. But it was cheap. Cheap enough that she could buy it with the few credits she had left over from before Hoth. And it could, in theory, fly her far enough to get her to a nice mild weathered planet where she could start work doing who knows what. It didn’t matter. Anything to keep her fed and clothed. 

“I’ll take it,” she said firmly. She could feel the Mandalorian’s eyes boring into her back, even through his helmet. She ignored his judgement and set her jaw. Not everyone could have a ship with an actual bedroom in it thank you. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she was grateful to find something that she could fly away on today. She couldn’t stand another moment of the heat. Her nose was already red, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever get the sand out of her hair.

“Are you sure?”

Kas turned and blinked up at the Mandalorian’s helmeted face as he appeared suddenly by her side. “It can fly me off this desert. That’s good enough for me,” she pointed out.

“There’s got to be something less,” he gestured with a gloved hand, annoyance coming off him in waves. 

“Less what?” she demanded, stepping closer to hiss under her breath so the seller couldn’t hear. “Less cheap? Less available?”

“Less trashy.” The Mandalorian snapped, even his modulator failing to keep the contempt out of his voice. “The guy’s ripping you off. He should be paying you to take it off his hands.”

This was undeniably true; the seller’s eyes had gleamed when she’d offered her meager credits. Still, she wanted to be free again. It left a foul taste in her mouth to be in debt to anyone, especially a Mandalorian. 

“Well what do you suggest I do?” she snapped, unable to resist curling her hands into fists.

To her surprise the Mandalorian’s voice was calm again when he answered. 

“Wait a day. Maybe two. Either he’ll come down in price or someone else will have something for sale.”

His carefully controlled tone did nothing to convince her; if anything, it set Kas’s teeth on edge and strengthened her resolve. She took a step back and frowned up at the Mandalorian.

“I’m taking it. Thank you for getting me here,” she added. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Turning decisively, she walked up the seller and pressed her credits into his hand with a murmur, aware the whole time of the heavy gaze of the Mandalorian piercing into her back.

\------

Night had fallen by the time she’d finished stocking her new ship, and weariness dragged at her eyelids. One more night here wouldn’t hurt her; she’d gotten her ship, and while it didn’t have a bedroom, she’d scrubbed the pilot’s seat into a semblance of cleanliness, and it was comfortable enough with her heavy coat draped over it. 

She was just drifting off to sleep when she saw flashing lights through her eyelids. Biting back a curse she opened her eyes to see blaster fires lighting up the desert night. Curious, she grabbed a pair of binoculars and aimed them at the flashing lights. For a moment the night was dark, then another red flash illuminated a ship in the distance. Zooming in, she felt her stomach drop when the light flashed again, revealing the Mandalorian’s ship.

“Fuck.”

She put down the binoculars and rubbed her forehead. She did not owe him anything. She saved his life from the sapphire worm, he got her to this planet. They were even. More than even. 

But.

But her hand still lifted the binoculars to her face again and her heart still pounded when she saw the silhouettes of stormtroopers illuminated in the red of blaster fire.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Sticking her nose where it didn’t belong is how she got dumped on Hoth with no ship and no radio. Sticking her nose out where it didn’t belong had earned her scar after scar. She owed this guy nothing. He was a Mandalorian. A bounty hunter. The second someone who knew her put a reward on her head, it would be someone like him who brought her in.

But.

But there was that child with him. That weird, tiny little green thing that had curled in the Mandalorian’s cloak while he’d been passed out in front of her fire. 

Before she could think about it any longer, she turned, grabbed her weapons, and ran out the door to the Mandalorian’s ship.

\--

The desert night was not much cooler, even without the heat of the sun. Dry air pushed Kas’s hair off her face as she ran towards the Mandalorian’s ship.

As she neared, the battle slowly came into sight. Troopers were standing on the ramp leading into the ship, weapons firing at the Mandalorian as he tried to get inside. Kas slowed and hid behind a small rocky outcropping, some ten meters from the fight. Settling onto her stomach she pulled her a long, rifle like object off her back. She’d modified a normal flame thrower to project balls of flames that she found went further than the normal stream of fire from a normal flamethrower. It was one of her most prized weapons, and the modification had helped her against many sapphire worms on Hoth.

Taking a breath she leveled the weapon, aiming for the troopers closer to her. It admittedly wasn’t the most accurate weapon. It didn’t always fire, and couldn’t send out more than a dozen bursts in one fight. But, it was a decent distraction.

She fired, a fierce surge of joy flashing through her as the fireball ripped through the air, hitting a stormtrooper in the chest. She had maybe one more shot before she became too obvious of a target. 

The second shot went left, hitting the feet of one trooper but skimming the Mandalorian’s cape, which promptly caught fire.

Cursing, she shoved the flame thrower back onto the holster on her back and grabbed her staff off her back. It was her own version of an electrostaff that had been used by the empire. Hers was much smaller, built for close combat and easy storage. It folded in the middle when not in use. Between the flamethrower that strapped to her back, the blaster hanging from her right hip, and the small dagger she kept sheathed on her belt, she didn’t have room for a long swinging pole. While not as strong, the electrified end hurt like hell, and the other end sported a blade, strong enough to pierce most armor if she gave it a solid thrust. 

Kas ran quickly towards the fight and pressed the electrified end of her staff against the side of the trooper who was approaching the Mandalorian, who was busy beating the flames off his cape.

“Sorry about that,” she gasped to him as she spun to block a blow from a different trooper. The Mandalorian recovered quickly, shooting a grappling hook out from his bracer and tripping a trooper before shooting it unceremoniously in the head.

“I had it covered,” he shouted as she grappled with a trooper, grunting as their fist punched into her stomach.

“Duck,” a familiar voice growled next to her ear, and she dropped quickly, watching as the Mandalorian’s arm lunged above her and buried a knife into the trooper’s neck.

The fight was a blur. There had to be at least a dozen troopers, but there were two of them at least. And the Mandalorian was a good fighter.

So was she.

She reveled in it, a savage grin stretching her lips as she parried a blow from a trooper and then followed through with a stab of the bladed side of her staff.

They were both quick in their movements, and they slid past each other and watched each others backs like they'd been at this deadly dance together for years.

Pain sliced through Kas’s arm and she snarled, throwing herself at the trooper whose blaster fire had carved a shallow groove into her flesh.

The only problem, she thought grimly as she pushed the electric staff against the troopers neck, was that she didn’t have armor, while the Mandalorian did. He could take hits and even some blaster fire, protected by the shiny beskar that covered his body. Her only protection lay with how fast she could move.

A flash of movement flickered in the corner of her eye, and Kas turned to see the Mandalorian, flinching slightly as his gloved hand grabbed her injured arm.

“The child,” he gasped before turning, distracted as a trooper fired at him from a distance.

Kas felt a lurch deep within her stomach as she turned, catching a glimpse of a trooper through the front window of the ship.

She turned and ran up the ramp, hearing shots and realizing the Mandalorian was covering her with fire.  
Inside the ship was dark, and she holstered her staff, grabbing the blaster off her hip instead.

“Stop right there.”

Kas froze and turned around with her blaster raised to see a trooper step out of the shadows, a bundle in their arms.

“Drop your weapon.”

The blaster fell to the ground with a metallic clang that echoed in the dark ship.

The bundle in the trooper’s arms moved, a small hand pushing its way out of the cloth. The sight of it, so small and fragile, filled Kas’s heart with a black rage. She didn’t know what the troopers wanted with it. Didn’t know why the Mandalorian was fighting with them. But she knew deep within her that they should not have the child.

The anger was hot within her, flames twisting in her stomach and up her throat, choking her with the desire to kill whoever stood against the child. Her hand grasped the dagger sheathed in her belt.

She was fast. The blade left her hand in the space between heart beats and landed in the troopers neck. The trooper fell, the child with them, and Kas lunged forward to grab it, heart beating too loud to hear the blaster shot, fire inside too hot to feel the burn of the hole that sizzled in her flesh above her heart.

But the sound of heavy boots walking up the ramp had her moving, gripping the precious bundle to her chest as she snarled, blaster she’d snatched from the ground pointing out at the Mandalorian as he approached her.

Her ears were buzzing, and she stared blankly at him for a long moment.

“…over, we need to go….. to me”

She blinked and swayed slightly, not lowering her blaster as the Mandalorian kneeled beside her, taking the child from her unresisting hands.

“It’s over,” he repeated gently. “We need to go.”  
\---

She looked horrible.

Din had helped the girl up to the cockpit, brows furrowing with concern behind his mask as she slumped in the copilot’s seat. She was bleeding heavily from her shoulder and was pale in the dim light, but he wouldn’t be able to offer her help until they got into hyperspace.

The ship came to life with a soft whir as he began moving switches and pulling levers one handed – he was still too keyed up from the fighting to put the child down.

Once safely in the air he pulled the med pack down from where it was stored and walked slowly over to Kas. She stirred as if waking from a slumber, and when she met his eyes he was startled by the sadness there.

“So much for getting my own ship, huh?” She said with a weak smile.

Guilt settled into the bottom of his stomach, and Din kneeled beside her, placing the child on her lap.

“Thank you for helping back there,” he murmured, and the smile settled more firmly on her lips.

“I couldn’t let them hurt this little guy,” she explained, uninjured hand lightly touching the tip of the child’s ear.

“We need to stop the bleeding. Is it okay if I help?”

Her eyes were hazel, he noticed, and looked wary as she nodded her permission.

The blaster shot had hit the fleshy spot of her shoulder, below the collar bone. Another shot has carved a shallow groove into her bicep. He did his best to be gentle as he cleaned the wounds, but she went even paler and hissed loudly when the antiseptic touched her skin. The cauterizing pen was even worse; both of them were sweating by the time he’d finished sealing the deeper wound, and Kas’s nails had left grooves in the leather of the seat, a low growl sliding between her clenched teeth all the while.

The difference between the pale, pained woman in front of him and the ferocious fighter from an hour ago was startling to Din. Before her eyes had snapped and gleamed; he’d even caught sight of her smiling savagely as she killed the troopers attacking them. Now she was just… human. Weariness showed in the purple shadows under her eyes and the tightness of her lips. She smelled like blood and sweat and blaster smoke. Yet under it all he still saw the woman who had been hunched in the shadows, cradling the child in her arms like the most precious jewel in the world even as blood dripped down her arm.

He didn’t trust her. He couldn’t trust her.

But she’d fought with him, fought for the child.

She could have left them; she had her own ship, her freedom. But she’d turned back to help them.

He couldn’t trust her.

But he did respect her. And she was a fucking good fighter.

He could use a good fighter.

“We can find a way to get you back to your ship,” Din offered, standing.

“Or?”

Kas turned her head, keeping her eyes on him as he put the med pack away and sat back at the captain’s seat.

“Or,” he said evenly, feeling as his her eyes were locked directly on him, despite the helmet separating them.

“Or you could come with us. You’re good in a fight. And the kid likes you. I can’t offer you anything, and I can’t promise that it’d be safe. But I can offer my help when there’s trouble, and a place to stay.”

Kas’s face was still pale and clammy, but a look of peace washed over her features. Her eyes were blazing as they met his, and he was startled by the hope he saw in them.

“Where to next, partner?”


	3. Partnership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian and Kas learn how to share a ship together, and how to work as a team.

Her new life on the Razor Crest wasn’t the most ideal, but it worked more naturally than the solitude of Hoth, despite the many oddities and complications.

There was only one bed, for one.

The first week had passed in a sleep deprived blur for Kas, though she suspected the Mandalorian suffered as much as her. The fact was that they simply did not trust each other. Sure, she’d saved his life and he’d offered her a place on his ship, but she was slow to trust anyone anymore. Especially a masked bounty hunter. And she couldn’t blame him for not trusting her either. It had taken days for Kas to not unholter her blaster every time the Mandalorian entered the room, and she was certain this did not encourage him to trust her in return.

But they’d gotten used to each other. The child was closely attached to the Mandalorian, and for a few days he’d regarded Kas with wide eyes. But he’d relaxed around her first, crawling onto her lap or chewing on the hilt of her dagger. And slowly, steadily, she’d gotten more comfortable around the Mandalorian. Stopped flinching when he reached for something near her. Stopped freezing with a racing heart as he passed her in the narrow spaces of the ship. Eventually she’d grown so exhausted by lack of sleep that she’d caved, collapsing on the small bed fully clothed and passed out for hours, not even reaching for her blaster when a gloved hand had shaken her awake. She’d watched, bemused, as he stumbled headfirst into the bed the second she was out of it, muffled snores coming out all metallic under the helmet he never took off.

Strangely, the single bed was the easiest barrier to hurdle once they got over the fear of being vulnerable while asleep. The simple fact was that it didn’t make sense for both of them to sleep at the same time anyhow. One of them had to be up either steering the ship or watching the child. Kas wasn’t the best pilot; while she was able to keep an eye on things while the ship was in hyperspeed, or man the ship during long stretches of empty space, she was quick to call for the Mandalorian when asteroids or another ship blipped on their radar.

And so their routine became established, sleeping in shifts, spending their waking hours in comfortable silence, slowly learning to speak easily in front of each other. Their conversations always danced around safe topics – the past, his helmet, personal questions of any kind really – were all subjects they avoided out of respect, and fear that the other might ask similar questions in turn. But the Mandalorian had a sense of humor that was surprising, and more enjoyable because of it. Dry sarcasm and gentle teasing were languages they had in common, and when all else failed they could talk to or about the child. The first morning she found herself humming under her breath as she prepared food for the child was the first morning she realized that she liked it on the ship. Enjoyed this life, despite the inconveniences and oddities.

It wasn’t ideal; the bathroom was small and cramped and the sonic shower didn’t always work, forcing her to use the incredibly unreliable real shower; the water sputtered out smelling of sulfur and even gas on one occasion. But, Kas reflected one particularly annoying morning as the sonic shower refused to turn on even after repeatedly hitting it, and the water pressure left her trying to rinse shampoo out of her hair with a gentle mist, it was better than breaking off chunks of ice to boil in her one small pot and shivering violently while cleaning one small part of her body at a time.

Food was tricky. The child was nearly always ravenous, and the Mandalorian refused to even sip bone broth in front of her. This left him crankier than normal and her exasperated to no end until she put a foot down. A shouting match ended in an uneasy truce that saw her banished to the cockpit with the child for a half hour three times a day so the Mandalorian could hastily gulp down food before the child inevitably escaped her grasp and made its way to the Mandalorian again.

No, Kas thought to herself as she watched the stars wiz by in hypnotic lines as the ship hurtled through space, the only part about the last month that she couldn’t handle was the feeling that she was trapped.

There really was no escape in a ship this size. While showering that morning she’d listened sleepily to the muffled shouts and bangs as the Mandalorian tried to stop the child from tearing the ship apart. She’d eaten her rations on a cramped stool with one hand while gripping the child’s smock in another. She’d smacked her head so hard on the Mandalorian’s helmet while they both reached for the same fallen tool that her vision had gone black for a moment and she’d gripped to the ship while listening to the Mandalorian’s poorly muffled laughter. She woke up to the sound of the Mandalorian animatedly discussing the passing stars with the child, despite its inability to speak Basic. She fell asleep at night to the smell of a stranger on her pillow and the sounds of the Mandalorian fiddling around with the ship’s constantly needed repairs.

Kas missed walking and running and riding the Tuan Tuans. She missed the stretch and burn in her arms as she climbed a rocky crest in search of something to eat. It had been three weeks since they’d left the desert planet. Her arm had ached and itched and burned at intervals, but she’d gently moved it and strengthened it each day, doing pull ups on the ladder or pushups in the narrow hallway, often with the child clambering on her. Still, she was antsy. She wished she could work on maintaining and modifying weapons, but still didn’t feel comfortable with the Mandalorian to ask to mess around with his weapon store yet. She was bored and stir crazy and tired of smelling the same air every day.

“Kas.”

She jumped, fingers automatically reaching for the hilt of her blaster, though she’d long since stopped wearing it around the ship. The Mandalorian stood next to the captain’s seat, and she cursed him internally for his soft footedness.

“I thought there was another hour left before you got up at least,” she murmured, rubbing a tired hand over her eyes.

“We’re running low on fuel,” the Mandalorian murmured softly; the child must still be asleep then. “I actually came up to see if there was any planet in particular you’d like to stop to refuel at.”

Kas blinked, trying to force her brain into linear thoughts after hours of allowing them to drift aimlessly as she did the monotonous task of “keeping an eye” on things when the ship was on autopilot.

“Somewhere with rain,” she said, surprised at the sudden longing that swept through her. How long had it been since she’d seen rain? Or something green?

“Rain with cliffs or rain with forests?”

“Cliffs,” Kas said firmly, arms flexing unconsciously as she thought of climbing one until she was higher than the clouds.

\---

“Is this what you were hoping for?” Slight skepticism and maybe, if she was right, just a touch of amusement saturated the Mandalorian’s normally crisp words.

“Yes,” Kas breathed, unbuckling her seatbelt quickly and skipping the last few rungs on the ladder in her haste to get to the downpour that was echoing like hail inside the metal ship.

Outside was cold and crisp and clean and Kas stumbled slightly in her eagerness to get out from the sheltering confines of the ship’s entry.

Rain showered against the bare skin of her arms, plastering her thick hair to her neck. She laughed as she raised her face to the clouds and opened her mouth to let sweet tasting water cover her tongue. It was elixir.

Opening her eyes she saw the Mandalorian crouching under the safety of the ship’s awning, watching the child splash in a small puddle nearby.

“It’s good for him to be outside like this,” Kas puffed as she jogged over to them. The Mandalorian lifted his helmet from the child and looked her up and down, taking in her dripping hair and saturated clothes.

“It seems like he’s not the only one enjoying it.” The Mandalorian’s voice was as dry as a desert, and she laughed.

\--

They’d parked in a small space port attached to an equally small town. After paying the alien who owned the port and maintenance shop to refuel and run some minor repairs on the ship, the three of them set out in the rain in search of new supplies and food.

The rain still hadn’t let up, and while Kas and the child delighted in it, the Mandalorian seemed less enthusiastic. Could a helmet have a sour expression? Kas wondered, smirking as the man’s shoulders rose up high as a stream of water from the roof above splashed against him.

She wasn’t sure how it was possible for a man to look half drowned when he was fully clothed and covered in heavy armor to boot, but she’d never seen someone less enthusiastic about rain before. The relief coming off the Mandalorian in waves was palpable as they ducked into a small building with a sign out front identifying it as a sort of trade center.

Inside was a maze of spices and ration packs and weapons and medical supplies. Kas’s fingers twitched and she started towards a particularly lovely display of daggers when a movement around her knee distracted her. She turned in time to see the child waddling quickly back to the open door and caught up to it in a few quick strides.

“Not so fast you little womp rat,” Kas murmured, snatching him up and settling him on her hips. “Your dad would never forgive me if you got lost.”

The child’s eyes narrowed and its huge ears drooped, making her smile indulgently at it.

“Want to look at some pretty knives?” she cooed, walking over to the display shelf. “See this one?”

Kas picked up a slim dagger with an arching cross guard and pommel and offered it to the child, who scrunched his little face up in apparent displeasure.

“You’re right,” she said with a laugh. “Far too fancy. And so thin! If you didn’t get it exactly between the ribs it’d snap at the first thrust. How about this one?”

They continued on for several minutes, Kas handing the little one dagger after dagger to inspect with an intent expression. After several fairly staunch rejections by them both, they finally came across a promising blade.

It was fairly simple, but elegant despite that. Deadly sharp, with a horn handle and strong crossguards. No fancy grooves or patterns marred the blade, but the surface seemed to glow slightly.

“Careful of this one child,” Kas murmured, cautiously placing the hilt in the reaching hand of the little one in her arms. The child regarded the blade for a long moment, the slightly iridescent surface reflecting in it’s large eyes. Then, as if in approval, the child turned the blade over and stuck the rounded pommel in its mouth.

“Your girl chose a good blade there.”

Kas spun around to face the shopkeeper, extracting the blade from the child’s grasp in the same movement.

“Not my girl.” The Mandalorian said firmly, stepping out of the shadows with rations piled in his arms.

“I’m not his girl,” Kas laughed, rolling her eyes. “I’m my own girl. What do you know about this blade?”

It was songsteel. Allegedly. A valuable, strong weapon if it was true. Kas frowned at the dagger and then the shopkeeper incredulously. If it was truly songsteel it was invaluable. And Kas couldn’t afford invaluable. Besides, she already had a good dagger.

Feeling only the slightest pang of regret, Kas handed the songsteel back to the shopkeeper and pulled her own dagger from its customary spot on her waist.

“How about this one, little tauntaun?” she murmured, holding her own old dagger out to him. The blade was chipped in places, and the handle covered in old blood. But it was freshly sharpened, and the handle fit her hand like a glove.

The child touched it gently and cooed at her with big eyes. It was with this dagger she’d save the little one’s life. She wouldn’t trade it for a new one.

\--

The rain had left off slightly, leaving the planet green and feeling so alive Kas imagined it was breathing. The ship still wasn’t ready so they hiked to a small hill overlooking the port, carrying the child and some of the more spoilable rations they’d picked up.

“You’re good with him.”

Kas turned to see the Mandalorian watching, leaned casually against a tree as she threw her knife at targets, to the child’s obvious delite.

“He just likes the chaos,” she said with a laugh, watching the little one wander excitedly after a frog who’d been unlucky enough to catch its eye.

“Sorry about the shopkeeper.”

Kas blinked and then laughed. “People see what they want to see. To him we looked like a nice little nuclear family. No harm done. Besides, no one would remember a family stopping in, but a bounty hunter and a little green child and a –” she stopped, and then forced out another laugh. “It really isn’t a big deal,” she assured him.

“Oh, good.”

“Are you sure?” she teased. “Because it seems like you’re the one who’s upset by it.”

“I’m not – “ The Mandalorian broke off and she could feel him glare at her from behind the helmet.

“Right. Got a jealous girlfriend or something? I promise not to tell her we’ve been using the same bed.”

That really riled him, and he stood up straight, posture stiff.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Good,” Kas said, then broke off with a confused laugh. “Wouldn’t want her to stab me over a little misunderstanding by a shopkeeper.”

Kas turned around and threw her knife back at the target, smiling only slightly when it hit the center again. She walked to fetch it slowly, feeling confused by the whole interaction. It was by far the most personal conversation they’d had so far – which was really saying something because in her experience, most men were very keen to tell her how very single they were. Of course, she thought with more amusement as she wretched the knife out of the log, a Mandalorian was not ‘most men’. In fact, she still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t a droid. He stood so stiffly, and a modulator could hide a multitude of sins.

\--

They left the planet the next day, to Din’s relief. They’d spent a little more time in the small town, and Kas had even wrangled the child and himself up a small rock outcrop, passing out fresh bread and meat and some vaguely alcoholic drink when they reached the top, declaring it a ‘fine day for a picnic’ with a wild sort of glee on her face that was only accentuated by the wind that threw her hair around in tangles around her head. They’d eaten, prevented the child from falling off the cliff, and then climbed back down sore, muddy, and – in Kas and the child’s case – elated.

For Din, watching the planet fade into the distance as he aimed the ship back into space was a relief. As for Kas…

The woman was in turns solemn, irritated, cheerful, and listless. She wandered around the ship, moving objects around, poking around in the storage areas, and generally being so distracting that Din ground his teeth behind the privacy of his helmet.

Eventually she’d wandered back into the cockpit and stood over his shoulder until Din thought he might snap.

“Do you want to fight?”

The woman’s voice was… not casual exactly, though it was clear that was the tone she’d been aiming for. No, Din decided. It was cautious and a little hopeful. He looked over his shoulder at her.

Her face was slightly pink, but it was the same look she’d had when examining the knives. He sighed.

“Sure.”

And so, for several minutes before he got his wits about himself, Din had his ass thoroughly kicked.

Once he got over the initial shock of having a small berserker throwing her entire weight at him, Din got his feet back under himself and started concentrating.

She was small, and very quick, but she lacked armor and therefore really couldn’t afford many direct hits before tiring – her tactic was to get in, get a punch in, and then skitter away. After noticing this, Din quickly had her back against the side of the ship, his forearm pressed against her throat.

Surprisingly, the woman didn’t look discouraged. On the contrary, her eyes gleamed and a wide grin split her face. There was a scar on her lip, he noticed suddenly.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

And so it was that they began to spar for a half hour or so before they ate their evening meal. More and more often they found themselves at a draw, a fact which alarmed Din, but also drove him to fight harder. And Kas had been right.

It was fun.


	4. Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bounty hunters catch up to Kas and the Mandalorian, and they must fight their way out.
> 
> Warnings: Fighting with weapons, mentions of blood, death, violence, swearing

“Kas.”

A modulated voice slipped between her dreams, pulling her out of her sleep.

“Kas.”

“No.” she mumbled, worming tighter under the covers. She felt hotter than Tatooine under the pile of blankets, but she stubbornly snuggled into them to escape the omnipresent voice.

“Kas.”

The blankets were ripped off her and she curled into a ball. A deep sigh reached her under the pillow she had over her face, and then the pillow too was unceremoniously removed. 

“What?” Kas groaned, rubbing her face and silently plotting how she could get back at him. She couldn’t ever wake him up so rudely; no, he slept sans helmet and it would go against his code for her to disturb him like this. She could always use up all the hot water, she thought muzzily. Of course, he might be a droid under all the layers of wool and beskar so that probably wouldn’t even phase him.

“—been following us for a while. Need you to help up top.”

“Wait, what?” Kas sat up, brain sliding into wakefulness as she finally processed the Mandalorian’s words. 

“Get up. Now.”

He left abruptly, and she scrambled out of the bed, shoving her boots on as quickly as she could.

Sleep still dragged at her limbs, making them clumsy in her haste. But adrenaline was pumping through her veins, sending waves of energy to from her beating heart to the tips of her fingers and toes. By the time she’d scampered up the ladder into the cockpit, her brain was firing on all cylinders and ready to face whatever needed to be done.

“What’s the plan?”

Kas found that her hands were trembling slightly, adrenaline making her antsy, making her want to _move_ , to _do_ something instead of waiting inside the ship.

The Mandalorian grunted slightly, hands flying to different buttons and levers. “Land.”

As if the pursuer heard the word that was shoved between the Mandalorian’s clenched teeth, they fired at the ship.

Kas swallowed a gasp as she lurched forwards, tripping against the Mandalorian’s seat, his pauldron digging against her stomach, as the ship shuddered and creaked in protest with his attempt at a sharp turn.

“Fucking -- _maker_ are you sure this thing can take that kind of damage?”

“No.”

“No you’re not sure --” Kas broke off with a grunt as she stumbled unsteadily to the copilot’s seat, “or no it can’t?”

He didn’t answer this time, his hands gripping tightly to the steering controls, fighting against another lurch. Kas’s own hands were gripping the leather armrests of her chair, nails biting down, piercing the leather with a desperate attempt to stay calm and not move.

She hated the silence, even though she knew the Mandalorian needed to focus. The adrenaline that was pumping through her loosened her tongue with nervous energy. “Where’s the kid?” 

“Locked up --” he reached across her and pointed to some buttons, “safe. Push those when I tell you.”

“Right.”

The landing was rough. They came in so hot that Kas found herself swallowing hard against her rolling stomach, hoping that the Mandalorian hadn’t seen her turn green as the ship skipped along the ground before coming to a halt.

“Fucking fucking shit fucking hell, fucking kriffing --”

“Kas. Get a hold of yourself.”

She blinked, not realizing she’d been keeping up a steady stream of profanity until the Mandalorian barked at her. Kas snapped her jaw shut and gripped her blaster. Her electrostaff was strapped on her back, along with her modified flame thrower. If they got the drop on whoever was pursuing them, the blaster would work great. If not… Well, her electrostaff was outfitted with a blade, and she’d never had any trouble using it in close combat.

They exited the ship side by side, the planet strangely quiet after the noisy landing. 

“To the left,” Kas muttered, shifting her weight slightly as they both turned to watch the pursuing ship glide down in a much more controlled landing. Maybe if they got out of this in one piece, she’d give the Mandalorian crap about it. Maybe.

“Stay here.”

Kas only had time to open her mouth in protest before the Mandalorian was slipping away, slinking behind his ship, melting into the shadows easily. The planet was dimly lit, twilight dulling the gleam of the bounty hunter’s beskar.

He’d _left_ her. If she wasn’t so tense, so ready to shoot anything that moved, Kas would be feeling flabbergasted right now. He _kriffing left her_. Just right out in the open, exposed as the aliens exited their ship twenty meters away.

“You have something we want!”

The speaker was a Barabel, a blade clutched in one fist, a blaster in the other. Behind him slunk out two trandoshans, followed by a security droid.

 _Bantha shit_.

“I’m afraid I don’t have it!”

Kas’s voice was calm, to her surprise. The hand holding her blaster was steady too, despite the dampness on her palms.

“Our intel says otherwise. Our intel says a Mandalorian and a child are traveling on this ship. They belong to us now. Hand them over and we’ll let you live.”

They might be telling the truth, Kas realized. She could hand over the Mandalorian and the little one, could receive credits even, for her assistance. Could keep the _Crest_ as hers. Spoils of war.

But something held her back -- something _besides_ the fact that the Mandalorian would surely vaporize her with his rifle if she even seemed like she’d take the deal. Was it guilt? Obligation? She’d saved him once before, their debt was paid. But still she hesitated.

“Your intel is wrong.”

Kas lowered her blaster, lifting her arms away from her body slightly, forcing herself to look open, calm, relaxed even. 

_See?_ She tried to show with her body. _See, I have nothing to hide_.

“You see,” she continued, a smirk dancing on the corners of her lips, “They landed on Hoth. Big mistake. They were so cold and lost -- well, it wasn’t a fair fight, really.”

“What are you saying?”

One of the trandoshan’s spoke now, their voice surprisingly high, nasal.

“I’m _saying_ that I killed him. Killed the Mandalorian, stole his ship. Go to Hoth, if you don’t believe me. I’m sure the wampas left some beskar behind as evidence.”

“You’re lying,” the trandoshan hissed, stalking forward a few steps. 

“Could be. It’d be easy to lie to you lot. Not though.”

Kas swallowed and then raised her eyebrows, mocking, confident.

“You could check my ship’s navigation. You’ll see I went to Hoth. Truly, I did. If I’d known there was a reward I wouldn’t have killed him.”

“And what of the asset?”

The droid’s voice was startlingly familiar, the modulated tones similar to the ones that emerged from behind the Mandalorian’s helmet.

 _Maybe he really_ is _a droid_ , Kas mused, momentarily distracted.

“Gone. Good as dead. I had no use for a youngling -- not the maternal sort -- so I left him.”

Kas shrugged, grimacing slightly. “Probably wompa fodder now, if the ice worms didn’t get to it first.”

She was running out of ideas. She felt like she was talking herself into a corner -- wished she knew where the Mandalorian was, what he hoped she would do.

 _The kid’s locked up_ , Kas reminded herself.

“Come on into the ship,” Kas called with a tilt of her head, holstering her blaster and hoping she looked more confident and relaxed than she felt. “Take a look around. Check the navigation logs. It’s just me here.”

 _Maker,_ her heart was pounding. She could feel it banging against her ribcage as she half turned towards the ship.

“Look,” Kas sighed. “You’ve got me four to one. You’re all bigger than me too. I know when I’m outmatched. So either check my ship or leave me alone. I’ll have a long night of repairs thanks to you.”

It _worked_.

Fucking maker it worked. They didn’t holster their weapons -- she hadn’t expected them to, really -- but they lowered them slightly, walking in a tense group towards her. The droid kept looking around, probably programmed to be less trusting than the rest of the idiots.

They all made it up the gangway and into the hull of the ship before Kas saw the Mandalorian. 

He moved like a shadow, smooth and quick as silk. He went for the droid first; a whipcord sprang from his wrist, wrapping around the droid’s legs, and he _pulled_ , jerking the droid to the ground before he fired a blaster shot into its head once, twice, three times.

Things got a little fuzzy after that.

Blasters really weren’t great in such tight quarters. There was too much risk of hitting each other, or for a bolt to ricochet around the metal interior. Kas had her electrostaff gripped tightly in her fists the second she saw the Mandalorian slip in behind the hunters, and she swung it now, the electrified end jamming into the Barabel’s stomach. He jerked with the shock, but didn’t fall the way most would.

Her breath exploded from her with a sickening _woosh_ as something hard hit her stomach. Another hand -- the trandoshan’s -- grabbed at her hair and _yanked, yanked, yanked_ , and she reached back, grabbed the hand, and spun towards him, once, twice, forcing him to let go or break his arm. He let go but Kas didn’t, and she jerked her knee up into his diaphragm. 

Hands grabbed her, hugging her from behind and she struggled, snarling, before the hands loosened suddenly. She fell to the floor then launched herself forward, tackling one of the tandoshian’s, ignoring the sounds of the Mandalorian attacking the Barabel behind her, the other trandoshian laying still and bloody on the floor. She’d dropped her staff, so she pulled her dagger from her boot and stabbed down at the trandoshian’s neck, only to be kicked off.

Kas hit the wall with a _thud_ and lay there for a moment, dazed. Adrenaline spurred her on though when she saw a boot flying towards her face. Her hand lashed out, slicing the tendon at the creature’s heel, and felt a savage pleasure surge through her when blood splashed in an arch, hardly noticing that it covered her face and arms.

Gathering her feet under her, Kas threw herself, snarling, at her opponent. Her momentum had them both flying back onto the ground. A hand reached for her throat, but she slipped, twisted, and plunged forwards, dagger sliding into the trandoshan’s chest and pulling out with a burst of blood.

Her victory was short lived, though, and the sound of a grunt had her spinning, dagger leaving her hand before she had time to register the movement. It landed with a meaty “ _thunk_ ” in the Barabel’s neck. His hands jerked away, dropping the Mandalorian who he’d been lifting into the air by the throat.

Kas took a step closer and pulled her dagger free, wiping it dispassionately on the dying barabel’s trousers.

Movement drew her attention and Kas let her eyes slide over to the Mandalorian who was pulling off his blood stained cloak with a sound of distaste.

“Well,” Kas sighed, surveying the mess. “That was fun.”

The bounty hunter made a noise that might have been a scoff, the sound raspy and indistinct. He looked at her then, helmet moving as he slowly looked up and down her body. 

“Are you hurt?”

Good question. Kas glanced down at her body and felt her lips twist in disgust. No, not hurt. But she _was_ filthy.

“I’ll be fine. You?”

“Nothing that can’t wait,” The Mandalorian assured her.

A slight noise from the cockpit distracted them both, and Kas busied herself with searching for her electrostaff, frowning when she found it wedged between two boxes. She’d been rustier with it than she wanted to admit. Hoth’s trials had kept her blaster and knife throwing skills razor sharp but it had been distinctly lacking in hand to hand combat with weapons.

Footsteps announced the Mandalorian’s return, and Kas straightened, shooting a concerned look at the child in his arms.

“Should he be seeing this?”

“He’s seen worse.”

The Mandalorian’s voice was brusk, and Kas swallowed against the sadness that rose within her at the words. Yes, he most certainly had. But that didn’t make it any less…horrible. How many children had “seen worse”? She had, certainly. And she could bet the Mandalorian had. And look how the two of them turned out? It wasn’t the life she wanted for this child.

“Here,” Kas said, holding out her arms to take the child. The Mandalorian hesitated though, his helmet sweeping up and down her body. “What?”

“You’re covered in blood.”

She was, in fact. It was sticky and smelly, caked in her hair and clothes. Sighing, Kas marched to the ‘fresher and turned on the little sink. Her reflection was… not good. Moving carefully she managed to wipe the worst of it from her arms and face with the Mandalorian’s scratchy, military issue towels. 

“What’s the plan?” Kas called out, grimacing slightly when she found blood congealing in her hair.

“There’s a town not far from here,” came the reply followed by the sounds of dragging. Kas opened the door and leaned against the frame, watching as the Mandalorian pulled one of the bodies off the ship. The child was “helping”, walking beside the body and pulling too.

“I know a mechanic there,” the Mandalorian added, dropping the body in the sand with a grunt. “She can fix the ship but I think we should find someplace to stay in town until she does.”

He offered her a pointed look from behind his helmet when he approached the next body, and sighed heavily when she made no move to help.

“Can you get the last one while I deal with this?”

“How well do you know this mechanic?” Kas pressed, ignoring his request. “Is she safe? Can we trust her?”

The Mandalorian grunted and glanced at the child. “I’ve trusted her with the kid before. She’ll do.”

If he trusted this mechanic with the kid, Kas told herself as she moved to help drag the body out of the ship, then she could be trusted not to recognize Kas. Not to contact anyone that Kas didn’t want knowing about her escape from Hoth. Still, it was hard enough to trust the Mandalorian -- though that was getting easier every day.

As they finished clearing out the bodies and a good portion of the blood, Kas realized that the Mandalorian was waiting for something.

Waiting for her, she realized with a start, eyes widening slightly. Waiting for her to say if she was comfortable going to the mechanic. Waiting for her opinion, her approval. 

The realization made Kas feel confused, something warm in her chest that was buffered by a small portion of anxiety as she realized that they were a team. That he valued her opinion. It almost made up for him leaving her to deal with the bounty hunters alone. 

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written a lot (not in order, just as the story comes together) and it looks like this will be a series of at least 3 works with around 6 chapters each! This will help the time skips and story arches make more sense. Again, sorry for the long gap between chapters. I just graduated college so I should have a bit more time on my hands!


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